


Aletheia

by lazywonderland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Harry, Bottom Draco, Choking, Confident Harry, Enamored Draco, F/M, Het, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hung Harry Potter, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Pseudo Female Draco, Pseudo Het, Sex While Using Polyjuice Potion, Slash, Smut, Submissive Draco, Top Harry, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, the teeniest amount.....i can't write anything without angst idk how, there's very little plot here but i still managed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25693015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazywonderland/pseuds/lazywonderland
Summary: Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 79
Kudos: 1268





	Aletheia

**Author's Note:**

> I got a request for more pseudo Drarry het and I truly didn't plan on the next thing I posted being more of that but this plot idea came into my room in the middle of the night, grabbed me by the ankles and told me to write it before I finished the other one-shot I'm working on so here we are. It got pretty long for having no discernible plot. Hope y'all enjoy! ♡  
>    
> Aletheia is a Greek word that translates most literally to _not concealed_. In philosophy, Aletheia is a concept that represents truth and disclosure; or, in the words of Heidegger, "making manifest that which in some sense lies hidden."
> 
> **Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**"** _Well I know when you're around_  
_'Cause I know the sound_  
_I know the sound of your heart_ **"**

**- _The 1975_**

i.

He's working on an essay for Transfiguration when he overhears Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey start whispering about conquests. Things like this are how he knows everything's officially gone back to normal around here.

 _Worse_ than normal. The eighth-years have been shagging like rabbits since term started, helped along by the common room they've all been made to share, and house lines have never felt more blurry and indistinct. He knows for a fact that Blaise has been sleeping with Padma Patil for at least a month, and twice now Pansy has informed him against his will of the size of Justin Finch-Fletchley's prick.

"You're lying!" hisses Tracey. Usually Draco would try to drown them out but the disbelief in her voice has reluctantly snagged his interest. He pauses his quill, eyes still on his parchment though his attention has shifted.

"Really, Daphne," says Pansy, "you could have picked someone a bit more plausible."

"Don't believe me then," says Daphne. He can hear the smugness in her voice, and Draco doesn't need to be looking at her to know it's on her face as well. "But it's happened three times now."

A name comes to mind; it's really the only one Draco can think of that would warrant this kind of a reaction from the other two. But it's absurd, even to lie about.

"You really expect us to believe you've been _shagging_ him?" says Tracey, all scepticism — and maybe a bit of awe too. She lowers her voice further, but Draco can hear it just fine: " _Potter_?"

On the other side of the common room, Potter himself is sitting on the sill of one of the larger windows, laughing at something Weasley's saying. He's in his usual worn-looking tee and denims, eyes crinkled with mirth. One hand is wrapped around a box of Bertie Bott's. He keeps throwing the minuscule beans in the air and catching them without looking, utterly absent-minded, before tossing them deftly into his mouth.

"You can't tell anybody," says Daphne imploringly. "He wants to keep it private since things get really blown out of proportion where he's concerned. And I'd _really_ like to keep this going as long as I can."

"My god," says Pansy. Draco can hear the hesitant acceptance in her voice. "You really are shagging him, aren't you?"

" _Shhh_!"

"Do you fancy him?" asks Tracey in a whisper.

"It's just sex, that's why we're keeping it _private_."

"You didn't answer her question," says Pansy. " _Do you_?"

"I dunno!" Daphne admits, sounding harassed. "He's ... well, he's _very_ good and ... and quite sweet, actually ..."

"Oh my god," says Pansy, the disbelief back in her voice. "You do, you fancy him!"

"Is he big?" asks Tracey, prompting another emphatic sibilant from Daphne. "Oh, come on, Daph, we _have_ to know!"

"Yes, all right, yes, he's quite ... quite large," she says. And Draco can't help it — he turns his head just so, just enough to get a look at her face, and he's stunned to see that she's pink-cheeked and misty-eyed and grinning, and her gaze is on Potter on the other side of the room. Potter, for his part, seems completely oblivious to the discussion happening about his cock not twenty feet from where he's sitting.

Draco has never felt _less_ capable of focusing on his studies. A flush has crawled over his skin and there's a distinct warmth low in his belly.

"And?" Tracey presses. "What's it like?"

"What is _what_ like?"

"Shagging him!"

"For Merlin's sake," says Pansy.

"What, you don't think he's fit?" asks Tracey, her tone implying she wouldn't believe it if Pansy said no. "I would let Potter manhandle me _any_ day."

" _Ew_ , Tracey."

"You're just jealous Daphne's the one fucking him."

"He's obviously attractive," snaps Pansy, voice still lowered. "But I have no interest in shagging him."

"Good, 'cause clearly he likes blondes anyway," says Tracey with a snigger. "Go on, Daph, what's it like?"

"I already said he's very good!"

They continue whispering and giggling about it, and twenty minutes later, when they all head up to their dormitory for the night, after Draco's given up on his essay and packed it away, he looks over at the chairs where they'd been sitting. Potter's still down here, but now he's sitting on a sofa next to Granger and looking at something she's showing him in a book. With the utmost casualness, Draco goes over to the chairs and glances at the one Daphne had been sitting in.

There are, he sees, a few long, gossamer hairs. The Greengrass sisters, like himself, are both platinum blonde.

Without allowing himself too much time to think about it, he picks them up and puts them into a pocket in his robes.

ii.

It takes a month to brew the Polyjuice Potion, and in that time Draco can only hope Daphne doesn't do anything to fuck up her ... _arrangement_ with Potter. He has no real way of making sure but he continues seeing her looking distinctly content, and he takes that to mean all is well. He hasn't stopped to analyse his decision to do this, and he doesn't ever plan to. There's not much to analyse anyway — he thinks Potter's fit, that's all, and this is quite a simple way of going about shagging him once without any complications. 

It's early December when it's ready, closing in quickly on the holidays. There's a last Hogsmeade weekend before break starts that nearly all the eighth-years elect to take advantage of in order to see the little village's decorations and buy gifts. Most importantly, though, Potter _doesn't_ go. But all of his dorm mates do, and so does Daphne.

The moment the common room has cleared out and he sees Potter going up to his dorm, Draco goes to his own and drinks the potion.

He's never actually used it before and the transformation is extremely uncomfortable. The result is even stranger, particularly the whole being-a-girl part of it. He can feel the weight of Daphne's modest tits, feel the absence of a prick between his legs, the way his hips suddenly have a natural sway when he walks. Not to mention her long blonde hair that he can feel cascading down his back. Just last week he'd managed to perform a highly discreet Doubling Charm on Pansy's uniform — Daphne's too perceptive and would have noticed — and he slips into that with utmost care, plus a bit of difficulty when it comes to the brassiere.

He looks in the mirror before leaving, taking more notice than he ever has before of Daphne's high, aristocratic cheekbones, the full lips, the cute upturned nose and shimmery blue eyes. She's really very pretty.

It's with his pulse racing that he ascends the staircase to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, second to the top just below Ravenclaw. He hesitates outside the door, stomach clenched with a combination of nerves and anticipation and arousal. He doesn't even know if it'll work, and if it does, whether he'll actually be able to go through with it. Nevertheless the idea alone is enough to leave him feeling lightheaded with the possibilities.

He knocks lightly, trying to compose himself. He's known Daphne for a long time and he's more or less confident in his ability to pass for her, especially if Potter doesn't know her beyond the bedroom. Potter looks confused when he opens the door, and although it doesn't entirely disappear when he sees who it is something visibly softens.

"Daph," he says. _Daph_? Draco has to contain his shock at the nickname. "I thought you were going to Hogsmeade."

"I decided not to," says Draco with a little smile. "I thought you might like to ... _hang out_?"

Potter laughs. It's a low, sweet sound kept deliberately quiet, and it's terribly charming. He opens the door wider and Draco slips inside, heart in his throat.

"You've decided not to get Astoria anything, then?" says Potter. He goes to his bed and sits down on the edge, where he begins unlacing his boots and taking them off. Laid out beside him are his Quidditch robes, and Draco realises Potter had been about to go take advantage of the empty pitch. The randy bastard hadn't even hesitated changing course at the sudden appearance of Daphne.

"Correct," says Draco, going to sit beside him. Potter shoots him a smirk as he picks up his Quidditch robes and lays them haphazardly over his trunk. "She really doesn't deserve it."

"Yeah, you've said," Potter chuckles. Draco has a moment to feel exceedingly pleased with himself — it's not _that_ impressive, perhaps, considering every Slytherin in their year has at some point heard Daphne complain about her kid sister, but still. Credit where credit is due. "Not that I'm complaining," continues Potter, and when he comes back around the bed he leans down and kisses Draco, just like that, with no warning whatsoever, and maybe for Daphne that's to be expected at this point but it takes Draco entirely by surprise. He freezes at first, tasting warm breath and soft lips, but when Potter starts to pull away with a frown Draco pulls him back in, _hungry_ for it. Potter smiles into the kiss and backs him up on the bed, crawling over him as Draco lets himself be pressed down onto the mattress. It's instantly overwhelming, he can hardly even catch his breath, and it's with no small amount of incredulity that he can feel himself growing wet.

No sooner has he noticed it than he feels Potter's fingers slipping beneath his robes and pressing against his knickers, drawing a surprised breath out of Draco that makes Potter laugh.

"Is _that_ why you stayed behind then?" he teases softly, rubbing over the thin fabric in agonising circles. Draco has a hand buried in that thick black hair, mouth slightly parted, moving his hips helplessly into Potter's touch. The feeling is utterly foreign and _so_ good. "God, you're soaking wet, Daphne." Draco positively _keens_ when Potter rubs more firmly against him, pressing his knickers between his pussy lips and dragging over his clit. Some part of him hasn't caught up yet to what's happening, hasn't properly registered the fact that it had taken Potter perhaps two minutes to reduce him to this, that this could even _be_ Potter.

Because he can't think of anything to say, he pulls Potter into a kiss again. Potter kisses like he does everything else: intensely, with emotion. He has an eerie way of staying in control of it, leading Draco in every movement, and he's glad to stop thinking and be led. It's slow and sensual and deep, stealing Draco's breath from right out of his lungs. At some point Potter's fingers delve beneath the sodden material of his knickers and he sinks two all the way inside, tearing a gasping moan from Draco that's halfway between pain and pleasure. It does hurt — this isn't _actually_ Daphne's body after all, which would make him, he supposes, a virgin in that regard — but it's so exquisite to know it's Potter's thick fingers inside of him, _Potter_ looking down at him with those green eyes and blown-out pupils, that it doesn't even matter. The pain even manages to be _part_ of the pleasure, somehow.

"Hang on, hang on," says Potter suddenly, pulling his fingers out and leaving Draco feeling horribly empty. "Let me get —" He doesn't finish his thought, ripping off his shirt and then starting to help Draco out of his robes and the uniform under it. The robes stay beneath them on the bed, but the shirts and the bra are tossed aside and land on the floor. The knickers come off too, although Potter leaves the skirt on (the perverted _bastard_!). He then pulls off his jeans and socks and he climbs back onto the bed in just his Gryffindor-red pants. They're tented in the front, and Draco can see that Daphne hadn't been lying. Between that and his tanned skin, lean muscle, and annoyingly charming smile, he's a sight to behold.

He tosses his glasses onto his night table and spreads Daphne's long legs, crawling between them. The skirt falls onto his (or rather, Daphne's) stomach. He's completely thrown by the tits on his chest, but that doesn't stop it feeling incredible when Potter's large, warm hand cups one of them. He bends his neck to meet Draco in another kiss, which Draco can only moan into when he feels the hard shape of Potter's cock pressing against his cunt through the thin cotton of his boxers. Only a moment later though his fingers are back, and he buries two of them inside even as he swallows Draco's panting, gasping breaths.

"Potter," he chokes out weakly. Potter suddenly lifts his head and meets Draco's eyes, like he's decided he wants to watch his face, and that thought makes Draco clench around his fingers. It's obscenely good. After a long moment he finally pulls them out and presses back in with a wet sound, starting up a rhythm.

"That good?" says Potter deliberately, his other hand kneading one of Daphne's tits, plucking now and then at the nipple. It's an onslaught of sensation in a body Draco's never inhabited before, and he knows suddenly he's going to come soon. It's inevitable. Potter seems to realise this too. Draco nods frantically in answer to the question, one hand lifting to claw at his forearm. He can feel the muscles shifting beneath the skin every time Potter squeezes his breast. His hips have started grinding into the movement of Potter's thrusting fingers and he can feel his belly tightening, _all_ his muscles tightening, building up to some impossible crescendo.

" _Potter_ ," he says again, voice breaking in the middle of it. Potter only speeds up his fingers, slamming them into Draco's pussy, and he gives a short cry when his orgasm hits him like a speeding train. It's earth-shattering, his hips jerking as Potter fucks him through it, leaning into him heavily with his own body to keep Draco in place.

"Good, that's so good," Potter practically coos at him, movements slowing gradually as Draco comes back down. While he's still trying to catch his breath Potter pulls his fingers out and spreads his legs again, and before Draco even has a chance to process Potter's _head_ going between his _legs_ he feels that hot mouth on his cunt and his head falls back on a pillow with a pathetic moan. His hand flies to Potter's hair, the other balled up in the robes beneath him as Potter's tongue slides through his labia and flicks over his clit. He's good at it, _far_ too good at it, leading Draco to believe he and Daphne have done this many times, not to mention whatever other girls Potter might have been fucking before her. Or _still_ , for that matter. 

He rolls his hips shamelessly against Potter's working mouth, breath hitching when he stiffens his tongue and pushes it into Draco's clenching hole. One of Potter's arms snakes around to Draco's stomach and he holds him in place while he fucks him with his tongue, bringing him quickly to a place where he can feel a second orgasm beginning to build. That slick muscle burrows in and out of him relentlessly, and when he's not doing that he's lapping up his juices like a man dying of thirst, sucking at his swollen lips and sensitive clit and then returning his tongue to its work. Draco rides his face without shame, but too soon, and with a last broad stroke over the whole of Draco's cunt, he sits up again and grins down at him, his chin and cheeks wet.

"Enjoyed yourself, have you?" says Draco in a slightly strained voice, pushing his fingers through his sweaty hair. Potter gives him a funny smile, eyebrows drawn together.

"Yeah," he says slowly, "I have. Have _you_?"

"I'd enjoy myself a lot more if you took those off," he says, gesturing to the pants. Potter's smile grows — he looks highly amused.

He complies though, sliding them off and returning to his position between Draco's legs. His cock is long and thick and a little intimidating, the fat head slippery with pre-come. He has a hand wrapped around it, wanking himself slowly, and Draco follows the movement with his mouth open for several seconds before he realises what he's doing and flushes.

Feeling bold, he sits up and, glancing up briefly, reaches a hand out to replace Potter's. He feels his cunt throb and he squeezes right beneath the sticky cockhead, sliding the foreskin down and grazing his thumb across the slit. Potter hisses quietly and threads his fingers through Daphne's silky hair. Belly pulsing with arousal, he leans forward and licks over the head of Potter's swollen prick, clearing away the salty pre-come only for more to dribble out. He's addicted instantly and he sinks his mouth over him with relish, the heady taste enough to leave Draco feeling dizzy. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking, he slowly swallows down more and more of Potter's massive cock until the head touches the back of his throat and he can go no further. His hand wraps around the very bottom that he can't possibly fit, squeezing and then moving down lower to gently roll his balls. Potter lets out a choked noise and his hips twitch, pressing his cock deeper into Draco's throat and making him gag. Potter actually _stays_ there a moment or two — runs his thumb over Draco's throat, feeling his cock distending it slightly — before pulling out, lifting Draco's chin, and leaning down to kiss him. Draco has no breath to kiss back but welcomes the sensation anyway.

"You want me to fuck you?" Potter says against his mouth. Draco, delirious, _gagging_ for it, can only nod his consent, wondering in the back of his head if Potter always asks first.

At the first slide of Potter's cock through the folds of his cunt, Draco lets out a moan in Daphne's higher-pitched, girlish voice, something weak and trembling and broken. Potter balances himself with a hand beside Draco's head, the other pressing down on one thigh as he grinds himself against the wet heat between Draco's legs, bumping against his clit occasionally. It's an exquisite feeling, that thick, turgid prick gliding through the wetness of Daphne's throbbing pussy, and by the look on Potter's face he thoroughly enjoys watching. The head keeps catching on his hole, a cruel tease, and it's beginning to send Draco into a tailspin.

But then, _finally_ , biting harshly down on his lip, Draco can feel Potter line up and start pushing inside. It's nothing like his two fingers, the stretch is significant and painful and it feels incredible. He squeezes his thighs around Potter's waist, pushing some of Daphne's long hair off his sweaty forehead and then bracing himself with his hands on Potter's broad shoulders. He can feel Potter watching him but can't find the courage to hold his stare, and anyway it feels so _good_ to close his eyes and focus on the feeling of being stuffed full, one of his favourite feelings in the world in his own body as well. Potter's lips are suddenly on his jaw, kissing down to his neck, mouthing there wetly as he finishes burying himself in Draco's trembling body that doesn't _really_ belong to him. 

"Still good?" Potter breathes against his ear. Draco nods, trying to find his voice. He feels so full he can hardly move, even just a minor shift of his hips drawing a soft moan from him.

"Yeah," he manages.

Potter pulls out just a few inches and then presses back in, and Draco buries his face against Potter's shoulder, nails digging into his back. For as many times as he'd imagined this he'd never expected to be so overwhelmed by the whole thing, so completely _submerged_. Potter could do anything to him right now, _anything_ , and Draco would have let him.

He continues rocking his hips into Draco at a steady, unhurried pace, the strokes getting longer by slow increments, allowing Draco the time to get used to the sensation and lose himself in it. Every drag of Potter's cock against his spongy inner walls is exquisite torture, each deep press back inside his tight body leaves Draco breathless with desire. He wants to be devoured, consumed. Potter seems to understand that, because he indulges him readily.

Their mouths come back together, a messy slide of lips and tongue, breathing each other's air as Potter fucks into him a little faster, a little more sharply, and Draco can feel his tits bouncing with the movement. His orgasm is building much more slowly this time, an ache deep inside himself that already feels like more than he knows how to deal with.

And then Potter pulls back, and suddenly Draco feels one of his hands sliding up to Daphne's slim neck — _his_ neck, and he doesn't squeeze but the subtle pressure is still enough to drag a pitiful moan from Draco's throat while his body is being driven into with that merciless cock.

"Potter," he breathes raggedly. The hand on his neck tightens for a second, just a _second_ , yet it's enough to make Draco's toes curl. His nails sink into the heated skin of Potter's shoulders, curled around them like a lifeline.

His hand still loosely circling Draco's neck, Potter leans down and brings his lips back to Draco's ear. His hips have slowed but not stopped, dragging it out torturously.

"Say my name," says Potter, a little hoarse but with no less authority in his voice for it. Draco thinks he might actually die.

" _Potter_."

"No," Potter says a little sharply. "My _name_."

Draco moans. He squeezes around Potter's cock filling him up so thoroughly, helpless not to meet that burning gaze.

" _Harry_ ," he whimpers obligingly. His skin breaks out in goosebumps. Potter's hand tightens on his throat again for a second.

"Again."

"H-Harry," he gasps, the tightening in his belly creeping again towards an even more terrifying precipice. The hand on his thigh transfers between his legs and there's suddenly stimulation on his clit, rubbing ceaseless circles into that tiny bundle of nerves while Potter picks up the pace again and batters Draco's insides with his cock, pumping into him over and over and _over_ again, throwing the headboard against the wall with every slap of skin. Draco utterly loses himself in it, his whole being, every sensation, every nerve-ending centreing in on what it feels like to be well and truly fucked by Harry Potter, who seems to have finally begun losing himself to the moment as well. At some point all that tension reaches an impossible peak, Draco's whole body goes rigid and then everything flies apart. His neck arches beneath the hand curled around it, back bowing, head pressing into a pillow that smells like Potter, and Potter himself keeps fucking into him while Draco shivers and jerks through his second orgasm, like nothing he's ever experienced before now. He has no earthly concept of how long it lasts, just that his body is still being pounded into, and the continuous, random spikes of pleasure haven't even started subsiding yet when Potter pulls out and starts jerking himself. Come spurts out in ropes not a second later, covering Draco's chest and belly. He watches, wide-eyed, heart racing, as Potter's hand squeezes and pulls at his pulsing cock, until it finally drops away and he lowers himself to latch onto Draco's mouth in a breathless kiss.

It's hard and messy but evens out to something lazier, tongues curling, panting breaths exchanged. Draco brings a hand to Potter's cheek and feels Potter grin against his mouth.

"How was that?" he asks softly, a little teasing. Draco kisses him one last time and pulls away, forcing his sluggish brain to remember who he's supposed to be.

"As good as it always is," he says. And if it _is_ always that good, he can't blame Daphne for doing everything she can to make sure it keeps happening. Potter smirks, eyes shining with amusement.

"Yeah? I'm glad."

Draco rolls his eyes fondly, feeling like a stupid schoolgirl, which is of course exactly what Daphne is.

"Sweet as ever, aren't you, Potter?"

"Yeah, well, you know me."

Draco snorts, the haze of orgasm finally beginning to fade and with the relative clear-headedness comes the realisation that it's probably been close to forty-five minutes since he'd taken the Polyjuice, meaning he needs to get back to his dorm fast.

A sudden, returning sense of disbelief also comes with the resurfacing of his rational faculties, and it's with slightly pink cheeks that Draco spells himself clean, grabs his clothing from the floor, and starts pulling it back on, foregoing the bra because it'll take long enough for Potter to become suspicious.

"Right, well, I should probably drag myself to Hogsmeade after all since I've got plenty of time," says Draco, shrugging his robes on and pulling Daphne's long hair out from the back. The cunt between his legs is still throbbing, and he can still feel his heartbeat in that little bundle of nerves Potter had been stimulating so relentlessly. "Astoria may not deserve the gift but _I_ deserve not to have to hear her complaining about it all through the holiday."

"Of course, yeah," agrees Potter, sitting on his bed in just his red pants. His glasses are back on his nose and Draco can see sweat still glistening on his skin. His cheeks are flushed. He looks ... _delectable_. "I'm gonna go hit the pitch. I'll see you later on, then?"

"Yeah." After a second's hesitation Draco leans down to kiss him one last time, unable to help himself. His stomach is already twisting into knots as reality begins setting in: he can never do this again. Once was risky enough, and there are about a million complications that could still arise. Potter kisses him back and he's grinning when Draco pulls away.

"Good luck with the gift-shopping."

"Thanks. See you later, Potter."

"See ya, Daph."

iii.

The anticipated complications never arise. Not later that night, not the next day, and not throughout the following week. Daphne looks the same as ever and so does Potter, and Draco can only conclude that, miraculously, Potter must not have brought it up to her at all.

Draco himself has been feeling more and more miserable with every passing day, something that even the festive decorations and holiday spirit around the castle can't cure. There's a terrible paradox growing in his mind: on one hand there's nothing in the world he'd trade for that memory of being fucked within an inch of his life, on the other he recognises that he'd have been better off never knowing how good it could be when he can never have it again.

That's not even the worst part, though. The worst part is remembering not the high of the orgasms, but the feeling in his chest when Potter looked at him. If he'd had a stupid crush before, all he'd done now was stoke the flames and make its pointlessness unbearable. 

He avoids Potter with relative ease and Daphne to the best of his ability, although that's more difficult. He feels weird and guilty every time she smiles at him, looking none the wiser to his inner turmoil. 

On the Wednesday before the holidays are set to begin, two weeks after the incident, Draco's in the supply cupboard during Potions looking for more lacewing flies when Potter comes in and stops at the sight of him. Draco's heart stutters, creating a momentary pulse of dizziness. He hasn't actually looked into those piercing green eyes since he'd left Potter's dorm room looking like Daphne, though he's thought about them plenty.

"Potter," he says carefully. There's no time to puzzle over how to look the least suspicious so he has to go with his gut, lifting a bored eyebrow as he usually would. Potter says nothing, just looks at him, frowning a little. "... Can I help you?"

But then Potter's shaking his head, back to normal.

"Nope," he says. He reaches past Draco to grab a vial of frog spawn, coming much too close, and Draco has to covertly hold his breath because he knows how Potter smells and it's too dangerous to breathe him in at this proximity. "Oh, but I have been meaning to tell you," he adds suddenly, settling that heavy gaze on Draco with one hand on the door, "Daphne calls me Harry."

And then he's gone, and Draco's left to a feeble attempt at processing what just happened. He tries to wrap his head around the implications and can't, he's utterly numb with fear and shock and the most potent brand of humiliation. _He knows_. As the seconds tick by his stomach contracts in on itself, making him feel sick. He stays in there another few minutes, collecting himself, deciding what he can possibly do, which turns out to be ... well, _nothing_. There's really nothing he can do except pray Potter doesn't tell Daphne or anyone else for that matter. 

The humiliation clings to him all day and it's the first thing he remembers upon waking up Thursday morning. 

Thursday afternoon Potter drops him a casual "All right, Malfoy?" as he passes him in the common room, which puts a look on Weasley's face that at least lets Draco know he hasn't said anything to his friends either.

On Friday, Potter holds the door to the Great Hall open for him with a smirk on his stupid, smug face.

Draco knows he's going to crumble eventually, knows Potter's waiting for it, but it's not until Sunday that he finally does.

iv.

Most of the school has gone home for the holidays, but the Golden Trio have apparently elected not to. That leaves only them, Draco, a Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs in the eighth-year common room, making it physically impossible to avoid Potter effectively unless he's in his dorm.

It's very late on Sunday evening, just past eleven, when Draco glances up from a book he'd been engrossed in to find that it's just him and the trio in the common room. Potter looks up from a game of chess he's playing with Weasley as if he'd felt Draco looking, stares a moment, and looks away again. Draco's face heats up and he lowers his gaze back to his book harbouring under no delusions that he'll be able to find his concentration again.

Not long after that Granger and Weasley, hands clasped, head up the girls' staircase together — the stairs in this common room are apparently not bewitched. Draco wonders whether they'd forgotten when they put this together for the eighth-years or if it had been a conscious decision.

Potter comes over and plops himself down in an armchair next to Draco's, as relaxed as can be, one boot-clad foot resting over the opposite knee.

"Hey, Malfoy," he says. Draco stiffens, jaw clenching, fingers tightening on his book he's still pretending to read.

"Potter."

He truly can't believe the audacity. The _arrogance_! To sit there, grinning and bouncing his foot, watching Draco with amused interest, not speaking. _Knowing_ and saying _nothing_. Letting Draco flounder like this.

After a minute Draco snaps his book closed.

"How much longer will you do this?" he bites out. He meets Potter's fervent green eyes with a pit in his stomach and a distinct inability to draw in enough breath to satisfy his lungs. His hands are shaking. His throat is tight. He's utterly terrified, and the shame is only worse for the mirth he sees on Potter's face. "Is your plan to torture me?" He gets up, backing up a little and glaring at Potter as he too stands and moves a step closer. "Will that satisfy you, to know I'm suffering?"

"You're doing it to yourself," says Potter easily.

"You're sadistic," Draco informs him. His face is on fire. He wants to disappear.

Potter laughs.

"What do you _want_ from me?" asks Draco hysterically, voice pitched higher than usual and unsteady. He knows he sounds like he's begging, and maybe he is. "What the _fuck_ do you want from me, Potter? An apology? An admission of _guilt_?"

"Tell me why you did it." Potter steps closer again and when Draco tries to step back he realises there's a wall behind him. Potter closes in on him, near enough Draco can smell him. "Tell me what the fuck was going through your head when you decided to Polyjuice into Daphne to get me to fuck you." His words are sharp but he doesn't sound _angry_. He doesn't necessarily _look_ angry either. A little bit annoyed, maybe, but mostly curious. Still, his presence is a powerful one, making Draco feel two feet tall and rather weak.

"I just wanted to see," Draco hears himself say, not much above a whisper now. He wants to look away but can't, Potter's eyes are probing and intense and hold Draco's gaze against his will.

"See what?"

"You," he says. Potter frowns. "Just ... I wanted to see what it was like. Daphne, she was ... I heard her telling Pansy and Tracey ..." He swallows. "I wanted to see," he says again. And, mustering his courage: "When ... did you realise?"

Potter only stares at him. He's still frowning. Draco thinks for a second he might not even answer, but eventually he does.

"There were a lot of things," he says. "You don't kiss like her, for one thing. And you don't smell like her, for another." Draco's eyes widen, gobsmacked. To have forgotten something like that when it would have been as easy as stealing some of her perfume. "She's more ... _talkative_ than you are too. Then of course there was the Potter thing, that was the biggest tip-off. She's always called me Harry."

He steps closer again, and Draco thinks he really might die of humiliation when Potter's hand goes up to his neck, curling around the side and thumbing delicately over his throat, the bump of his Adam's apple. Pulling in shallow breaths, flushed all the way down to his chest, Draco stares into Potter's eyes and wonders if he's just torturing him a bit more before he snaps his neck.

"Also," says Potter, pressing in lightly with his thumb and dragging a helpless whingeing noise out of Draco's throat. "I found out pretty early on Daphne doesn't like being choked."

Draco can't breathe. He has to reach out and steady himself with hands on Potter's chest just to keep himself from sliding down the wall. Potter smiles again suddenly, but there's something darkly amused and lascivious about it. His hand loosens and falls away, and to make it worse he takes one of Draco's hands off his jumper. Draco snatches the other one back himself, horrified.

"How did you know it was me and not someone else?" he manages to find his voice to ask. Potter only grins maddeningly. "Did you already know when you ... before?"

"By the time we actually fucked, yeah, course I did," says Potter.

Draco swallows again. He's never felt so confused, so simultaneously turned on and humiliated.

"You knew it was me," he says slowly, "and you still did it?"

"That's right."

Draco clenches his teeth. He searches for an answer on Potter's face and doesn't find one.

"Why?"

"You clearly wanted it," says Potter, eyes dancing with amusement. "And you'd gone through so much trouble to get it."

That finally does it — he shoves Potter's chest, satisfied when he stumbles back a few steps looking surprised.

"Fuck you," he says. His voice is wobbly. "You're just as bad, doing it when you knew it was me."

"Really?" says Potter sarcastically, lifting an eyebrow. "You think so?"

Prepared to barricade himself in his dorm for the remainder of the year if he has to, Draco pushes off the wall to leave only to have his wrist grabbed. Even back in his own body, Potter can fit his fingers all the way around it. Draco rips it out of his grip, which isn't difficult as he hadn't been holding on very tightly. He's furious and ashamed and absolutely _sure_ he's going to start crying if he's not allowed to leave soon.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" says Potter. "We're not even close to being done here."

"I already told you why I did it!" Draco practically shouts. Chest heaving, he looks around the common room to make sure they're still alone. "What more do you want, you want me to tell Daphne? Fine, I'll go write her a sodding letter and —"

"I don't want you to tell Daphne."

Draco's teeth click shut and he stares hard at Potter, at the end of his wits. 

"Do you ..." Potter pauses, and for the first time he looks unsure of himself. "What is it specifically you wanted to _see_? What did Daphne tell those two?"

Draco crosses his arms, taken a little aback by the shift in Potter's demeanor. It's less threatening, anyway. His own face is still burning with colour but he supposes that's the least of his worries at this point. 

"She said ..." He rolls his eyes, cheeks burning. "She said you were _big_."

Potter gapes at him. It might have been funny if it weren't so utterly humiliating.

" _That's_ what you wanted to see?"

"I dunno! She also said you were, you know ..." he waves his hand vaguely, " _good_ at it."

There's a twitch at the corner of Potter's mouth. Draco frowns deeply and looks away, but then suddenly Potter's closing in on him again and he reluctantly meets his eyes.

"Do you agree with her, then?"

"Get _away_ from me, Potter."

"I'm curious about one thing, though," he says. He has Draco against the wall again. "Why didn't you just come onto me as yourself? Why Polyjuice into Daphne?"

"Are you serious?" says Draco flatly.

"I mean is it because it's you and me or because you think I'm straight?"

"I —" starts Draco, and then he breaks off. It's much harder to filter his words when Potter's this close. "Both ... I suppose."

"Well I'm not straight," says Potter.

Draco feels winded by this blunt statement. He's lost, completely off his footing, no _idea_ where Potter's headed with this.

"And the other part?" he asks.

Potter stares at him for a few moments, considering. Finally he says, "I have no idea." There's a pause. "It's never been like that with Daphne. Or anyone."

"Like what?" says Draco softly, hardly daring to believe. 

Potter shrugs. "You know what I mean," he says. 

And Draco _does_ know what he means, only he hadn't thought Potter had felt the same way. And if he _had_ , only because he thought it was Daphne he was fucking.

"Okay," says Draco slowly. He's barely restraining himself from looking at Potter's mouth. His head is swimming, grasping for a foothold in this unanticipated turn of events. "So what now?"

That's when Potter looks down at _his_ mouth, and Draco feels that flame in his belly kindle to life. Their eyes meet again, he can see a question in Potter's gaze, and then he's moving forward slowly and Draco closes his eyes and Potter's kissing him, sweet and hesitant, slow and impossibly soft. He anchors his hands on Potter's shoulders and there are hands falling to his waist and Potter's tongue is in his mouth, rubbing slickly against his own, and it's all enough to make Draco shiver with want.

"D'you wanna go to your dorm?" says Potter after several long moments, pulling away from Draco's mouth only to kiss down his jaw.

Draco swallows and nods, because he can't find his voice.

The moment the door closes behind them Potter has him pressed up against it, their mouths glued back together, separating only so Potter can get both their uniform shirts off. Like last time it's hard to keep up with him so Draco gladly lets Potter do what he wants, moaning softly into his mouth when he brings their hips together and Draco can feel his hard cock against his thigh. Potter works open his flies and drags Draco's trousers down his legs, then turns him around and presses him into the wall. Potter's familiarly warm hand goes to his arse, fingers skimming along the seam but never dipping between his cheeks. Draco puts his forehead to the wall, fingers curling against it uselessly. His cock is stiff and throbbing already, but he doesn't touch himself.

Potter's hand moves away and when it comes back it's slick with spit, finally dipping between Draco's arse cheeks to rub over his hole. Draco shudders and presses back against him, prompting Potter to drop his other hand to Draco's waist in order to steady him. Potter drags his finger maddeningly back and forth over his entrance, playing with his sensitive rim until Draco's ready to snap at him, before finally pushing it inside. Draco chokes out a gasp, cock twitching, mouth hanging open as Potter starts fucking him with it. After a minute he pulls it out, wets his fingers again, and then pushes back in with three this time, drawing out of Draco another broken noise.

"Tell me how it feels," Potter says against his ear. His voice makes Draco break out in gooseflesh.

"Good," he chokes out.

"Just good?"

Potter's laughing softly, rhythmically burying his fingers in Draco's arse, amused apparently by Draco's incoherency. Still, he can hear Potter breathing hard and knows he's not the only one achingly turned on.

"Can I fuck you again?" he asks, and even as his toes curl Draco still finds himself wondering how Potter can be so unbearably stupid _and_ charming at the exact same time. 

" _Obviously_."

The fingers are gone from his arse and Potter backs him up to the nearest bed, which is decidedly _not_ Draco's and actually belongs very much to Theodore Nott.

"Potter," he says, "this isn't my —" Potter cuts him off with his mouth, which Draco supposes he's meant to take as a representation of how much he cares whose bed this is. The house-elves will freshen it up before Theo gets back, after all.

Potter breaks away to remove his own trousers and pants and then settles himself between Draco's legs exactly the same as last time, only now Draco looks like himself and he knows _Potter_ knows it's him and everything feels so much more intimate and terrifying.

Potter takes himself in hand, slowly wanking that thick, beautiful cock like he knows Draco enjoys watching, and maybe he does. His eyes are on Draco as he does it, squeezing and pulling and fisting under the head, using his own pre-come to ease the slide. At some point Draco thinks he might like to let Potter fuck his throat with it until his jaw is sore, but right now he needs Potter inside of him like he needs to breathe.

"Potter," says Draco quietly, lifting his gaze to his face. " _Please_."

And Potter obliges him, lifting Draco's thighs and pressing his magically lubed cock to his loosened hole and pushing inside. Draco digs his fingers into Potter's shoulders as he slides all the way in, and when he's finally seated Draco wraps his arms around him and pulls him down, pouring the things he's feeling into a desperate kiss that's returned just as hungrily. Potter starts moving slowly and gains speed as Draco relaxes around him, fucking him with torturous pulls out and deep presses back inside that leave Draco dizzy with need.

His pace is starting to become more erratic — along with his breathing — when Draco feels Potter's hand move to his throat again and he arches into the touch.

"Are you close?" Potter says, just a few inches from Draco's mouth. He squeezes, not _hard_ but certainly more forcefully than last time, and Draco lets out a choked sound of consent. Every other stroke his prostate is being stimulated, he's struggling just to get breath in his lungs, and somehow that heightens everything he's feeling, makes it all sharper and more distinct and _achingly_ good. He wants to touch himself, to get a hand around his straining cock, but there's not enough blood or oxygen in his sluggish brain to accomplish that simple movement. He's utterly at Potter's mercy right now, from the hand on his windpipe to the cock driving into him and shaking the bed frame. Amazingly, he's never felt so at peace before.

Potter squeezes a little harder, whispers his name, and Draco's nails bite into Potter's skin as his orgasm crests that final peak and tips over, wracking his body with convulsions of exquisite, unimaginable pleasure. His cock twitches and spurts between them untouched, Potter burying himself in Draco's arse with harsh thrusts until Draco's a shivering mess beneath him. His hand stays on Draco's throat, clenching and unclenching rhythmically as Draco feels him start coming inside his body. His hips slow and finally come to a stop when it starts leaking out of Draco's fucked-out hole, and as soon as he takes his hand off Draco's throat and he's able to pull in a deep breath does he realise just how tight the grip had gotten right at the end.

"Shit," says Potter after a moment in which the two of them stare at each other with heaving chests. "Your neck ... I'm sorry." His fingers are desperately gentle when he skims them across Draco's throat, which feels exceedingly tender.

"'S okay," Draco assures him in a croaky voice. He tugs Potter back down to him for another kiss, but after a moment he breaks it with a groan when Potter pulls out of him. He watches Potter mutter a wandless _Accio_ to get his wand quickly from his discarded trousers and then Vanishes the mess between them before dropping it back on the floor.

"So," he says, grinning down at Draco, who's just beginning to feel his brain clearing.

"So."

He kisses Draco and drops beside him on the bed — Theo's bed — looking sated and content.

"We should do something tomorrow," says Potter, stretching his arms and then lacing his hands behind his head. "Take a walk out on the grounds or whatever, talk."

Draco frowns at him and sits up a little, prompting a raised brow from Potter.

"Wait, what?"

"I thought ..." Potter hesitates, lifting onto an elbow, then continues, "I thought you liked me."

Draco blushes, but he doesn't deny it. It's more or less the understanding they'd come to earlier in the common room even if it hadn't been spoken aloud. It's such a funny idea, especially applied to the two of them. And it's difficult to wrap his head around Potter feeling the same way.

"I ... do," he admits stiltedly, "I just ..." He licks his lips, trying to phrase it. "I didn't realise you'd want to, erm, spend time together outside of ... this."

"I don't want it to just be shagging, if that's what you mean," says Potter. "I'd like to, you know, see where it goes. If that's what you want too, obviously."

Draco's heart feels lighter than air suddenly, only that feeling deflates a little when he remembers something.

"Daphne," he says reluctantly.

"What about her?"

"She, erm ... she fancies you."

Potter looks genuinely surprised by this and Draco can't help rolling his eyes. Leave it to Potter to be shagging someone regularly and miss out on the fact they've developed feelings for him.

"Did she tell Pansy and Tracey that?"

"Not in so many words," says Draco. "But I promise you she does."

Some colour blooms on Potter's cheeks and he sighs, looking guilty and irritatingly modest.

"Well ... I mean, I'll just have to talk to her when everyone's back," he says. "I would've had to anyway to tell her I'm ... y'know, not going to be sleeping with her anymore."

"I can't _believe_ I feel bad."

Potter chuckles and kisses his cheek, which makes Draco feel slightly less bad. He's truly never minded Daphne but if her feelings must be sacrificed in order for Draco to have a monopoly on Potter's attention, well, that's life.

"She'll be all right," says Potter, fingers back at Draco's throat where he prods gently at the sore skin, likely bruising already. Draco finds he likes the idea of knowing it's there, even if he'll have to cover it up. "D'you think I could stay here tonight?"

Draco looks over Potter's face, his earnest green eyes, the scar not quite hidden beneath his messy hair, and he can't imagine why _he's_ the one whose bed Potter wants to sleep in.

"All right," he says, melting a little at the smile he gets for it. "But you have to tell me something."

"What?"

"How you knew it was me instead of anybody else. You never said."

Potter grins, eyes lighting up.

"What?" Draco demands. "What _was_ it?"

"I knew it was you the way you said my name," says Potter, warming Draco's cheeks. "But mostly it was a thing you did with you hair, pushing it out of your face. You've been doing it since we were eleven, as soon as I saw it I knew for sure."

Draco wants to be mad but can't. It had been careless to fall into such a habitual gesture, although no _less_ careless than forgetting about Daphne's perfume or calling Potter by his surname, he supposes.

"Can I tell you something else?"

"What ...?" says Draco carefully.

"I'm glad you did it."

Draco's heart swells. He rolls his eyes because he doesn't want Potter to see the emotion on his face, but he's pretty sure he sees it anyway.

Potter can, after all, read him quite well.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [lazywonderlvnd.tumblr.com](https://lazywonderlvnd.tumblr.com/) ♡


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